


Embers

by TheRedshirtWhoLived



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Adorable, Backstory, Gen, How Do I Tag, Kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 19:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17106446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedshirtWhoLived/pseuds/TheRedshirtWhoLived
Summary: Velanna sits, and thinks, and works her first magic.





	Embers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dalishious](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dalishious).



Spoilsport!

Meanie!

No fun!

The other children’s insults follow Velanna in a dark cloud, stinging at her heart as she stalks away. It’s not her fault their game of halla-and-wolf makes no logical sense-after all, everyone knew halla didn’t actually do that, and besides Aneirin would never let a wolf near the herd anyway. So why had Anwen and Caitrin and Joran all said they wouldn’t play if she was included? Didn’t they want their game to be accurate?

She hears light footsteps behind her, too light to be one of the clan’s adults. “Seranni, you don’t have to do this,” she calls without looking over her shoulder. “You love halla-and-wolf, and they’ll still play with you.” 

Her sister grabs at her wrist, and because it’s Seranni, her beloved sister, Velanna allows it and turns to face her. “I can talk to them,” her sister says, hope flaring too-bright in her voice. “I’m sure they’ll apologize…”

“Why should they?” interrupts Velanna. “It’s not as if they weren’t having fun before I decided to join. I’ll play better next time, and you won’t have to go to any trouble.” Without giving Seranni a chance to respond, she yanks her arm away and runs off towards her family’s aravel, blonde hair flying behind her. 

On her way there, she passes Keeper Ilshae entertaining some of the little ones with little motes of light conjured from her fingertips, flying over the wide-eyed children’s heads in swirls of greens and blues and golds. She walks closer, eager to hear what story Ilshae has to tell. Velanna likes the ones with the mages best, the stories from Arlathan. Arlathan sounds like paradise to young Velanna. The elves of Arlathan in Ilshae’s stories were wise and clever and confident and beautiful. They could live forever and do anything. Their magic was stronger than anything, stronger than that one time Ilshae had looked at a field of wildflowers in the clearing and made them grow into a garden like the shemlen ladies had, just to make her bondmate Verin smile. 

Velanna wants to be like the elves of Arlathan more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life. But she is Dalish, so even at nine, she is well-acquainted with death, and she has spent enough time trying to play with the other children of the clan to know that no matter how hard you try, some things will always be impossible. She has long since realized that the closest she will ever come to being like a hero of the stories of Arlathan is being a mage.

She smiles to herself as a two-year-old with toddler-chubby legs, a tunic smeared with dirt, and a sun-bright smile swats at a purple mote as Ilshae guides it around her head. Her eyes are glued to the little dancing light like it holds the secrets of the universe. Being a mage, she thinks, would be worth it even if none of the elves of Arlathan could use magic. 

Still smiling, Velanna walks away from the aravel to a tiny shaded alcove under a mossy oak tree. The clan has camped here once a year for as long as Velanna can remember, and every year, the mossy oak tree has been there. She always remembers to say hello to the tree when she walks past, even though she knows that even if she had magic, the tree wouldn’t respond. 

Velanna ducks under some low-hanging leaves and sits on a rock so covered in moss that a shem might mistake it for a velvet green pillow. She closes her eyes, letting the sun wash over her. Her smile grows. This, right here? This is nice. Sometimes she likes to bring a book or a scroll here to read, but on days like this one…

Years ago, Velanna had asked Ilshae how a mage knew they were a mage. Ilshae had nodded understandingly and told Velanna about how when she was young, she had inadvertently pushed her brother in the river with the power of her mind. But Velanna had not been satisfied. Even at that age, she desperately wanted to be a mage. So, after a few days of questions, Ilshae had sighed in that exasperated yet understanding way she had and explained to Velanna.

“The shemlen say magic arises through strong emotions, and they’re a little bit right.” She’d chuckled at Velanna’s mutinous expression. “Yes, da’len, shemlen can be right sometimes. But to call magic deliberately, to reach across the Veil and into the Beyond and take a little of that power for yourself, takes calm. Calm and focus, simply taking in this wonderful world around us. Then, if you’re very, very calm and very, very focused, you might be able to do this!” And then Ilshae had turned her own hair purple, making five-year-old Velanna giggle in wonder. 

Ever since then, Velanna has tried to be calm and focused, albeit with varying degrees of success. Sometimes, sitting on the mossy rock under the oak tree and watching a bird make its nest or a squirrel run along the branches, she felt almost peaceful, and she could have sworn she felt something deep within her, this odd energy tingling and begging to get out. Before Velanna could decide whether to let it out or not, something would happen, she’d get distracted, and before she knew it, the feeling was gone as if it had never existed.

As she sits and lets her mind go still, that odd tingling feeling begins to rise again. The feeling’s been happening more and more often lately, and she hopes it’s not puberty, whatever that is-she’s overheard some of the older girls talking about it in hushed whispers and giggles. Velanna doesn’t think it sounds very pleasant. 

Velanna half-expects someone, maybe Seranni, to come along and ask her to go do chores, but no one comes, and as the sun makes its journey through the sky, Velanna forgets all about that worry. She just lets her mind drift, focusing on the feel of the moss beneath her skin and the comfortable warmth of the sunlight on her ears and the gentle birdsong. She lets her eyes flutter closed, and gradually, her hands begin to warm until they’re hot enough that she should be crying in pain, but she doesn’t hurt. Something is different.

Velanna opens her eyes and almost falls off the rock at the small flame flickering in one of her palms. Somehow, she knows, deep in her soul, that this is magic. It might not be like in the tales of Arlathan, but it’s still wonderful magic. 

Did I do that? wonders Velanna, and almost as if the flame has noticed her moment of doubt, it begins to gutter and die out. Velanna glares at the flame, telling it to stop that the same way she’s heard her mother talk to a bow that just wouldn’t be strung, and the flame stabilizes, burning steadily in her hand. Velanna realizes that the tingly feeling inside her isn’t tingly any more, it’s like her entire body is humming and working to produce this one little flame hovering in her hand. She looks at the flame in her hand for a moment as a true smile spreads across her face.

Seranni isn’t going to believe this.


End file.
